


The Right to Roam

by ForrestToads



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Depression, Dreams, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Letters, Love, Love Confessions, Love Letters, Lucid Dreaming, Mental Anguish, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Scotland, Self-Destruction, Self-Harm, Small Towns, Survivor Guilt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-15 19:08:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28943463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForrestToads/pseuds/ForrestToads
Summary: SUMMARY: Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger would have remained enemies if it weren't for the war - damned to despise one another until the end of time. Instead, they found trauma-edged love through serendipity, bravery, and the willingness to dream. EWE. HEA (to the max)!CONTENT WARNING: Rated M for a reason! This story deals with trauma, poor mental health, and a plethora of potentially inappropriate choices that stem from both of those things. Also… other eventual adult content (lemon).
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 6
Kudos: 10





	1. to be a bird

**Author's Note:**

> a/n: hello all! i'm forrest toads - here to present you with my first fanfic in nearly five years! although i've been immersed in the general fanfiction community for nearly a decade, i've made this account to begin anew (also because my old account has nothing but doctor who and phan fics on there…)! the right to roam has been in the works for quite some time, and i'm nowhere near done with it. however, i enjoy uploading the edited chapters as i go because, quite frankly, i love receiving feedback on my work! i've tried my best to stay true to the plot through the sixth book or so, but some things have changed - though i still think everything works quite nicely (please let me know if it doesn't, or if anything is distracting)! this story really means a lot to me, and i sincerely hope it will eventually mean a lot to you as well! thank you for clicking on my little dramione fic, and have a wonderful read!  
> P.S. this fanfic will be crossposted on both fanfiction dot net (FFN) and wattpad  
> P.P.S i highly recommend listening to the song i quote at the beginning of each chapter while reading! once we get deeper into the story, i will be releasing a playlist i've put together that includes all of the songs!

**[SUMMER 1998]**

chapter one

"let these words speak

let our eyes never meet

cause even if you love me

what would the people think?"

-'dragon' by breathe owl breathe (2010)

When the Malfoy heir decided to throw his wand to Harry Potter at the final battle of Hogwarts, reality itself shifted. The moment Harry moved from Hagrid's arms, Draco had turned into lightning, his feet striking the broken ground beneath him. He nearly fell at first - taking off from his toes at such a panicked speed, scuffling against the crumbling stone - but he quickly regained his footing. It was his velocity that helped him hurl his slender wand to the Boy Who Lived. Harry's quick reflexes had allowed for a triumphant succession of events to occur, using Draco's wand to end the decade-long fight against Voldemort.

And just like that, the war had gone by in a flash. Once it was over, it felt like it had stopped just soon as it had started, regardless of the years of peril that came before. Suddenly, there was no looming end goal. There was no grand secret, no plan to enact. Physically, it was over.

But in the minds of those who fought, those who had lost so much, the battle brewed on. Living in the post-war reality felt like moving through honey - a gold-tinted world that just wouldn't let go. So much was expected of the surviving heroes, the people who had watched their brothers and sisters and lovers die. There was always an exclusive interview, a proposed book deal, a mandatory court appearance, a trial to comment on, a crowd of thankful citizens to remind the living of what they had to endure. No one was given the chance to escape what they so badly wished to rid themselves of. No one could hide from the suffocation of success.

Oh, to be a bird. To have the chance to lift off and leave; to have an escape.

Hermione Granger had always been quite terrified of flying. It was recognized from very early on that it was one of the few things that truly gave her a fright. Scarred from her first attempt at riding a broom, she had stayed out of the sky at all costs except for when it was necessary, like in class or during a mission. She had absolutely detested her time spent flying on Thestrals with Kingsley Shacklebolt during the Battle Over Little Whinging, and had spent most of its duration with her entire body clenched, soured adrenaline coursing through her veins in clotted chunks. She had been unsure of whether she feared heights over the bloodthirsty death eaters, or vice versa in the moment.

But now, the death eaters were gone, eradicated, finished. Of course, some supporters hid on the fringes of society and tried their best to build something from nothing, but Voldemort was gone for good. Hermione no longer had reason to fear them. She, along with many others, had taken the power back, and in turn had protected the lives of muggle born and half-blood wizards everywhere. So how on Earth did she have the audacity to continue on in her fear of flying? It seemed silly now, being afraid of something as trivial as flying after conquering what they had. Hermione fully convinced herself that she had no time, no space left to feel foolish fear. She simply did not allow herself to experience the sensation.

She did, however, endure a specific sort of sadness - the kind that began as a single grain, then slowly expanded to fill one's whole chest and mind. It was an aching, immobilizing depression that had made life devoid of meaning.

And it was all because of a fucking boy.

Once the dust finally settled, there hadn't been enough time to say goodbye. There hadn't been enough time for anything, really. An escape was the only viable option for everyone who wished to keep what remained of their shattered sanities. Hermione had gone to The Burrow with Harry and Ron almost immediately after the Final Battle, then remained there for nearly two whole months. The tall, rural home had been shrouded in a blanket of inescapable bereavement. She hadn't so much as left the magically warded property for a day hike within her recuperative stay, choosing to merely stay inside, write, and chip away at her post-war reading list - there was no distraction better than reading. With her nose in a book, Hermione didn't have to look up and see the emptiness in George's eyes, or notice the suffocating silence that invaded the kitchen whenever Molly cooked. She could hide in a corner and avoid brushing shoulders with Ron, avoid having an unfulfilling conversation with Ginny or Harry.

And when she wasn't reading, she was asleep in her small, twin sized bed. Nearly everyone else in the house had trouble sleeping, their minds burdened by PTSD-induced night terrors that refused to be remedied even by the strongest of Dreamless Sleep potions. For each of the others, sleep served as somewhat of a reverse highlight reel, forcing them to relive their war-torn moments and trauma - it was hell. Insomnia was quickly deemed as the preferable option by Harry, Ron, George, and Ginny. The four of them had made a habit out of meeting in the dark of night, crowding the small kitchen and distracting themselves with Firewhiskey as the rest of the house tossed and turned from above.

But Hermione, she preferred to dream - she welcomed it.

In reality, she just wanted to be alone. She wished for an escape from her escape, a place in which she could stare at walls in silence and brew tea at six in the morning without having a shadow of grief lurking behind her being. She wanted to be lost, untraceable, vanished completely - but this desire was nearly impossible to achieve. The entire wizarding world knew Hermione's face, knew of her accomplishments and story. There was nary a place for her to hide away, to be a person before a war hero.

And then the letters began.

Nearly a month after everything had begun to wind down, Hermione was awoken by a rather large owl tapping at her window, the sun just barely peeking over the horizon. She wasn't sure in the moment, but if her memory served her right, it was a Eurasian Eagle owl. Its large orange eyes peered into the small space that she shared with the youngest Weasley curiously, its head cocked in anticipation as it stood before a rather hefty parcel.

Hermione then moved towards the window quietly, tiptoeing across the hardwood so as to not disturb Ginny - who had finally fallen asleep in the night for once - then pushed the pane open with her palm flat against the glass. It was cool outside, the early-morning air causing an outline of condensation to accumulate around her hand. She and the owl both quickly realized that the window would not be wide enough to let the smaller creature in through.

"Tell you what," Hermione started politely, offering her hand out for the bird to nuzzle. "I'll meet you down in the garden - with treats."

The owl let out a low squawk, then took off towards the green space below. She was unsure of the sender or contents of the letter, but she was desperate to busy her brain with something in the early morning light. Hastily, Hermione shut the window and scurried around her small area to collect a muggle pen and some parchment, along with a fistful of treats from her personal stash. After gathering her things, she shoved both legs through a pair of loose-fitting joggers and tucked the hem of her t-shirt into the waistband before making her way out back to meet with the owl.

With a pinch of anxiety in her gut and no shoes on her feet, Hermione walked toe-heel, toe-heel, toe-heel down the wooden staircase. The Burrow was tall - nearly too tall for her liking - and its stairs were relentlessly creaky, crying out beneath every other step she took. She moved in a brisk fashion, knowing that she would cause a bit of noise regardless of her pace, until she reached the bottom floor of the Weasley's home. From the wall across the living room, their funny clock hummed and clicked as all of the hands - adorned with portraits of each member of the family - pointed to "bed." Hermione smiled at the confirmation of solitude as she tip-toed across the rest of the home until she reached the door.

She slipped outside with ease, rushing to the garden perch in which the owl had sat upon. It was attached to a picnic table fit for all nine - well, eight - Weasleys, stretching out towards the field that resided beside the home.

"For you, friend." Hermione tossed the treats across the wooden surface, set her other things aside, then nabbed the letter in one foul swoop. The owl clucked once in appreciation before practically diving headfirst into the spread. Hermione smiled at the creature as she clutched the thick envelope between both hands. There was a slight breeze in the air that carried a dewy scent as she sat down on the bench and let her eyes wander across the packaging. On the front of the envelope, her name was written in a beautiful, cursive script - bold black ink then traced by a stunning silver that accented things just right. Around her name were small flowers, sloppy doodles of tight-petaled flowers and tiny trees - pine and birch - drawn around the edge of her name. Immediately, she knew who had sent the letter.

Of course it had been him.

The opposite side of the envelope had been hand-colored a Slytherin green, with flecks of silver scribbled along the edges. Hermione smiled at the unapologetic craftsmanship, running her finger along the paper and taking a calming breath before she dug her index finger beneath the seal. She ripped the paper as best she could, taking her time to carefully unbind the muggle packaging. Once inside, she found three separate things.

The first item she pulled out was a twine-bound stack of postcards, many of them being from small towns and sights along the sea. Without freeing them, Hermione flipped through them and peeked at each design. They were all muggle photographs, frozen in place the way she preferred - the moving, looping images that wizards developed still caused her unease, even after all her years in their world. There was no writing on any of the postcards, which Hermione thought was a bit odd. She set them aside gingerly, then dug her hand back into the envelope to pull out a folded piece of bulky paper.

It was a portrait of Tonks.

Beautifully etched atop the paper with pencil and charcoal, her dearly departed friend stared up at her with wide, reanimated eyes. Draco had signed his name at the bottom of the piece, his signature swirled with artistic flair. The piece was really quite good. Hermione ran her fingers along the edge of her face, the intricate lines blurring into one as a wave of tears pooled over her eyes. She would have to get it framed for her room.

The early morning breeze felt tinted with magic as it danced through her hair and across her skin. It was evident that Draco had spent time on this letter - time on a gift for her. For the first time in what felt like eons, Hermione's heart began to flutter.

The only thing left in the envelope then was the letter. Hermione stared at it within the packaging for a moment in an attempt to prepare herself for its contents. He had written the message on muggle paper, a flat piece of stationary folded in half to fit the envelope just as the drawing had been. Trying her best to remain present in the current moment, Hermione took a breath and observed how the Earth felt between her toes, how the wood of the picnic table had warmed beneath her, how the air felt against her tired skin, until she had finally been able to even out her breathing. Then with courage, she looked at the note.

_Dearest Hermione,_

_Have you been dreaming?_

_Best,_

_DM_

Hermione held the letter tightly to her chest after scanning it one, two, three times. The message was so simple, so unexpected, so necessary. Because she had, in fact, been dreaming. She had been dreaming about him for weeks now - the reasoning behind why sleep was the only destination that brought her peace. It was the only place in which she could get away, in which she could be with him. But she had thought it to be all in her head, old fantasies stirring around and up to the surface of her subconscious.

She looked off into the distance then, the letter clutched to her heart.

Draco Malfoy was muted, made of earth tones and stoicism. He reminded Hermione of the Black Lake that sat beside Hogwarts - a body of dark and muddled water wading just above a world of soft green light. He had sacrificed so much to help them win: warning the Golden Trio of the incoming death eater parade at the Quidditch World Cup back in fourth year, working with Snape behind the scenes to keep the Order as up to date as possible, saving Hermione's life at the Manor all those months ago. Though he wore an ever so convincing mask of disinterest and narcissism, he was easy to see through with practice. Hermione had practically shattered him to bits the day he saved her from the manor, had seen the light hidden between the deepest cracks in his skin.

If he was inquiring about her dreams, did that mean he had been dreaming about her just the same as she had about him?

With a bold grin, Hermione placed everything back into the envelope and began to scrawl out a response to her one-time nemesis. She decided to keep the message simple but purposeful, just as he had, and pondered over the word choice for quite some time. The final result was thirteen letters long, a simple but prodding succession of words - and though she felt proud of the letter, she did feel a bit embarrassed about how bare her envelope was, how thin its contents were. Reluctantly, she placed some doodles around the backside of the envelope then, as elegantly as she could manage, wrote his name on its front.

"Please let me in," She whispered to the letter, kissing the seal before handing it to the patiently waiting owl. "Safe travels, and thank you."

Hermione watched as the owl flew off, its wings flapping against the blue morning sky. For the time being, she decided she would call the large bird Iris after its wild eyes, and hoped to see them again very soon.

* * *

_Breathlessly, the pair swam beneath a thick cluster of lily pads, taking turns peeking at and circling one another in the water. Draco's pale skin was tinted green from the filtered sunlight, highlighting the scars and crevasses that littered his body. Hermione nervously tilted her head as she peered at him, dragging her gaze from his torso, to his mouth, then eyes. The gentle current caused the overgrown mop of blonde hair to billow out behind him, giving her a clear view of his relaxed face. She noticed how he looked at her, as though she were some sort of precious artifact – a beautiful, untouchable thing that had been put away for good reason. He appeared so delicate when he held her gaze then, his face dressed in a dreamy expression, his eyes unwilling to leave her own._

_Hermione's hair stayed in tangled curls that floated in front of her face. She didn't bother to push them aside when she made eye contact with Draco. In fact, she barely paid any mind to her demeanor or physical actions, she didn't observe the temperature of the water or the depth at which they swam. It was as though she was completely removed from her typical, analytical self. Beneath the water, it was just them – there was only him…_

Hermione shot upwards in bed upon her return to the waking world, her lungs heaving as though she really had been underwater. Beside her, Crookshanks jolted awake at the sudden movement and emitted a small, panicked meow. As she panted heavily, her eyes first shot towards the bedside window in desperation, her hands making fists in the blankets. But to no avail, the windowsill remained vacant; there was no sign of any owl. Hermione took time to peer around the dark space, quickly realizing that Ginny was out of the room. Relieved by the routine emptiness but perturbed by the awakening, Hermione released a drawn out sigh and collected the covers back around her shoulders.

Though she knew she shouldn't have been so naïve, Hermione couldn't help but wake each day, fresh from her dreams in anticipation of a response. Hearing from him had changed things. It was quite pitiful in Hermione's opinion - one parcel alone had the ability to positively shift both her demeanor and mental state. Just as she had done so long ago, Hermione had begun to help Molly in the kitchen, make small talk with friends, and voluntarily venture on long, winding walks through the tall fields and forests that surrounded the Burrow. Like a tiny miracle, the bundle of paper propelled Hermione forward in life - the response gave her some sort of far off purpose. But of course, she still wanted more.

It was still before sunrise, the room a shadow in the moonless night. Hermione's brain was suddenly in overdrive, festering with thoughts and lingering pieces of her dream. She had seen him again, so tangibly beside her in the depths of that pond. She rolled over in bed and began to cradle her cheek with her hand, pathetically reminiscing on the time Draco had done the same upon their escape from Malfoy Manor. She had disliked it in the moment, had shoved herself away the second they landed on the snow laden forest floor. But now… now she wouldn't mind the gesture as much. She wouldn't mind feeling his palm against her face, then neck.

_there i go again - making a mockery of my trauma._

Hermione shook her head into the pillow as though to free her mind of the thought. It felt a tad ridiculous to have even the shortest intrusion of him woven into her recounted trauma. She didn't want to constantly connect him to that, but she quickly realized that it was all they had. Violence and danger had themed their childhoods, leaving barely any instances of laid back interaction. And besides, even if there had been time for that, the foul language that most likely would have left Draco's mouth would have spoiled it anyway.

Hermione groaned in defeat - her mind was absolutely reeling. There was no way she would fall back asleep at this rate, this she was far too aware of. She decided that tossing and turning would be of no use, then ever so carefully, she stood from her small bed and stretched her arms towards the sky. The wood floor was cold under her bare feet, sending a sharp shiver up her spine and kindly inspiring the concept of a bath. Yes, a warm soak in the tub would do Hermione and her restless mind just fine at such an hour.

On her way towards the door, Hermione glanced over at the cup of tea she had abandoned before bed and gave it a contemplative gaze. tea wouldn't be so bad either. She laughed to herself out of pity for a moment before doubling back into the room to grab her wand. Rewarming the beverage didn't take much self convincing, as a trip to the kitchen was both risky and a lot of work, but it still gave her a sense of shame nonetheless. afraid to go downstairs, to face the ones who love you most. She sighed into the cup, taking a long sip of earl gray as her feet led her to the tub down the hall.

Making sure to place a silencing charm on the room before doing so, Hermione began to draw steaming hot bathwater into the basin. She undressed slowly, yawning as she stripped herself of her oversized sleep shirt, then melted into the inviting warmth. She hadn't bothered to put her hair up, her brown ringlets falling across her shoulders to kiss at the rising water. Lazily, Hermione leaned her head back against where the rim of the tub met the wall and shut her eyes for what felt like a single moment before suddenly jolting forward - a sharp pain ricocheting across her skin.

Hissing as the water lapped against her forearm, Hermione's eyes darted down to the protruding scar, a gift from Bellatrix. Though it was normally an ugly sight, it appeared each cursed slash had swollen into a pink peak tipped by white. Evidently, she had been scratching at herself again without noticing, an unfortunate habit that formed alongside the survivor's guilt that sat lofted in her chest. The heat of the water seared her irritated skin, causing her to wince once more before lifting her arm to rest on the rim.

Breathing felt like a series of sighs - heavy, shifting tones that weighed heavy on Hermione's lungs; a burden. A pinch of frustration began to build in the back of her throat, her eyes just barely stinging with the idea of tears. Baths had always been one of Hermione's favorite ways to unwind, with the exception of reading for pleasure, but now even submerging herself in the water conjured memories of long endured pain. It felt as though nothing would ever be the same as it had been before the war, as though nothing would be enjoyable, or familiar, or relaxing. With her eyes clamped shut, she pressed the tips of her toes firmly to the opposite end of the tub, pressing until some more of her body had slipped beneath the warmth, until she hit the dull point of pain. Her submerged hand sat flat along the bottom of the basin to steady the rest of her, dead set on letting the sadness pass through her like a ghost.

_SSSCCCRRRREEEEECCCCHHHH!_

The horrid noise caused Hermione to jump yet again, her barely formed concentration dissipating back into the air. Confused, she twisted her head towards the room's small, circular window. what in the bloody hell… A different owl - one much smaller than Iris, with a pudgy middle - sat outside, harshly clawing at the bathroom window. Attached to its standing leg was a scroll, rolled tightly against the bird's ankle. Quickly, Hermione stood in the bath with such excitement that she nearly toppled over, reaching out to grasp a towel from the nearby shelf and wrap it around her middle for decency's sake. Hurriedly, Hermione pushed open the round window pane and, without hesitation, extended her hand for the owl to inspect.

"Now, who are you?" She asked politely, bowing her head slightly at the creature. "Is that letter for me?"

The owl squawked, hopping once towards her and extending its leg in return.

"Oh, thank you!" Hermione breathed, her fingers trembling ever so slightly as she fumbled with the twine. Her damp feet slightly melded with the floor, water cascading down her legs to create a small pond beneath her. With her dry hand, she unrolled the tiny scroll, reading each line as it appeared individually.

_Granger,_

_Feeling adventurous? Personally, I'm Nott!_

_You have desire, and I have answers._

_Care to floo? If so, please provide_

_a time and place (no Wednesdays!)._

_TN_

Hermione's brow furrowed as her eyes came to the end of the letter, a twinge of disappointment in her chest. For it had not, in fact, been a response from Draco. Rather, it had been a vague message from his close friend, the one and only, Theodore Nott.


	2. before the sea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: hello again! i would like to apologize for how long it took me to post this update. two weeks ago, one of my beloved cats died very unexpectedly. things have been quite rough on my end, but i am trying to remain optimistic about everything. anyways! this chapter is basically all background information/flashback (besides the beginning), setting us up for the rest of the story! it was rather hard for me to write tbh - the first two chapters are always the hardest for me to get done. please let me know what you think, if you so desire to! -forrest toads
> 
> P.S. this is a HONKIN' chapter! over 7.5k words… oops… but also you're welcome.

chapter two

_"did you cut your hands on me?_

_are my edges sharp? am i a pest to feed?"_

_-'enchanting ghost' by sufjan stevens (2010)_

_It was towards the middle of the night when Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger found themselves on the shore of a small pond. They observed the serene atmosphere together, their hands finding one another in the air that lingered between them. A full moon illuminated the dark water, the tops of the massive trees, and the whole of Hermione's face. Draco couldn't help but stare at her, thinking that she looked absolutely divine in the thin white garment that hit just below the knee. She turned to face him, her eyes lifting to peek at the glowing mess of white-blonde hair atop his head. His heart lurched when the witch examined him with a kind gaze, as though he were just a normal person rather than a demon, a traitor. Then suddenly, her hand was in his hair. Her thin fingers combed through the mop, her wrist occasionally caressing his cheek. Daringly, Draco brought his own hand up to lightly wrap his fingers around her arm and pull her closer to him. Her chest gently collided with his. Then, beneath the moonlight, they giggled and embraced._

_her, her, her._

He swore he had seen her in his dreams again. He would've bet what minimal inheritance he had on it. She had been standing tall in a flowing gown, a widespread grin on her face as a gentle breeze blew through her tangle of curls. She had offered her hand to him with her palm to the sky, asked if she could take him to her favorite spot before the scene around them fell apart, and was replaced with the shore of a lily pad covered pond. They had stripped down and waded into the least murky bit of water together. Her hand had been so soft within his grasp, her fingers linked around him in a way that convinced him she would never be letting go. They had been there together, interconnected and safe.

But now he was alone in bed, flat on his back and staring up at the ceiling. Outside his window, the sea crashed gently against the large boulders and sandy shoreline. There was a gray tint to the natural light that slipped through his window, filling the room with a dull sort of energy. Just from the way the light fell across the walls and floorboards, Draco could tell that the day ahead was destined to be a gloomy one - _but wasn't every day?_ Dramatically, he flopped over onto his stomach and buried his face into the plush pillow, his mind desperately holding onto the fuzzy feeling her gaze had bestowed upon him.

* * *

He had begun to dream of the Gryffindor girl in fourth year, when he was actually able to find interest in girls. At least twice a week, he was infiltrated by visions of him hand in hand with her - visions of them smiling and existing unabashedly. The dreams were always vivid, always lingering in the back of his conscious mind throughout the day. She had infected him like the plague, nestled herself into every empty space within his body. She was painted onto the inside of his eyelids - some days, all he could see was her. Daydreams of the muggle-born were hard to avoid, and before long, they began to take up entire days. He would wake up from a night filled with her and stare at the ceiling of his four-poster bed, his chest sometimes heaving. At breakfast, he would sneak glances at her through the space between Crabbe and Goyle's heads to see if she was eating eggs like she normally did. In class, he almost always sat in the back of the room with the other Slytherins, while she sat in front, her hair billowing out over her shoulders and nearly blocking her from view. She always seemed so busy and preoccupied by ten things at once, never stuck pondering upon trivial things such as the bigoted boy.

She had nearly killed him at the Yule Ball — curls tamed and cascading down her back to kiss the dusty-rose colored gown. Then again whenever he saw her leaning against the wall near the Astronomy Tower, then again and again in the middle of every Potions lecture.

It was around this time that the dreams began to spiral out of control.

He tried to hate her, he really did. Draco had spent years trying to convince himself that he detested her, but she was everywhere: in his classes, in his sleep, situated directly in the forefront of his brain. It didn't matter how many times he mulled over her blood status, her academic superiority, or her relation to Potter. Deep down, he knew that she was it, that no one else would ever compare to her — the girl who was so tightly woven into his dreams, the one who looked at him with kindness overflowing from her eyes.

But despite all of this, there was a rather large pill for Draco to swallow. His Hermione was merely a dream, a fictional fixation that he had somehow conjured up during adolescence. Inadvertently, this version of Hermione Granger had infiltrated Draco's mind with ease, ushering in real world pain and bliss within the dreamscape.

Draco had done all he could to suppress the concurrent dreams. He had tried Dreamless Sleep draughts, but to no avail. Staying up for over forty-eight hours did nothing but enhance the realistic nature of the dreams - as though the more dazed he was before bed, the more immersed he would be throughout the night. He had tried to go to sleep starving, then overly full when that didn't work. Not even drinking copious amounts kept his mind void of visions, no matter the type of liquor.

Often, he had wondered if his infatuation with the muggle-born was some sort of coping mechanism, as though he needed someone good in his life to idolize. But as time passed and he was able to examine the situation from every angle, he conceded to his emotions - something that he had never really done before, nor desired to do - and allowed himself to silently crush on Hermione Granger.

He had been so enamored at the very beginning of fifth year, he noticed when she shortened her skirt by an inch or two. She had been crouched along the side of the hallway, rifling through her bookbag in a huff. Draco watched as she evidently couldn't find what she was searching for, watched as she stood straight up and accidentally allowed a book to slip from her grasp, watched as she collected the paperback from the floor by bending at the waist, bottom turned his direction. An immense wave of guilt had crashed down upon him just moments after she had walked away at a brisk pace. He swore to himself that he would never think about that image again - that he would never picture her bending over, _just for him._

Everything had technically been fine before sixth year, before the Dark Mark was forced upon Draco's pale forearm, the dark contrast causing his surrounding skin to turn green. Though his father was a prominent figure in Voldemort's army of violent purebloods, and had done everything in his power to instill the same beliefs into his son, Draco had never intended on becoming one of them. However, Lucius had royally fucked up, and desperately needed a way to cling onto his position. Evidently, Voldemort had been waiting for an opportunity of the sort to welcome the boy into his ranks. So, on his sixteenth birthday, Draco was bestowed with what many around him referred to as 'the greatest honor one can receive.'

That night, he had sat on the bathroom floor beside the toilet and examined the mark while his stomach tossed and turned. He retched into the bowl three times before dawn, his ruminations causing anxious nausea to consume him whole. He knew he was going to have to play the part of a Death Eater; he was going to have to go on missions and cast horrible curses on innocent people. It was either that, or the inevitable death of him and his parents. His lack of options was suffocating.

Draco never enjoyed his birthday again.

Throughout his sixth year at Hogwarts, Severus Snape taught Draco the art of Occlumency. Within the first session, he located Draco's biggest secret.

"If he finds out, he _will_ kill her, and perhaps you." Snape had said with his brow furrowed.

Draco cringed, clenching his fists immediately at the thought. "I am more than aware."

The concept of him potentially being the cause of Hermione's demise was really what did it for him - he outright rebuked the reality in which that was a possibility. Perhaps if things had been different, Draco would not have taken the study as seriously as he did, spending hours and hours fortifying the walls around the parts of his mind in which he _had_ to keep secure. Perhaps if he hadn't been terrified of his attraction to the muggle born, he would have disregarded most of Snape's teachings. But unfortunately for him - and by extension, Hermione - his dreams were still persistent, each creating a new blasphemous memory that had to be buried deep within his subconscious in preparation for what was to come.

Lucius had not told him that the Dark Lord was making Malfoy Manor his home. Draco had been having tea with his mother when everything went to shit. Narcissa had been just as clueless as her son, her demeanor plummeting mid-conversation as her quick glance at the outside world became a petrified gaze through the parlor windows, her eyes threatening to shatter the glass pane.

"What is it?" Draco had asked, his back turned to the large window. He took his time looking over his shoulder, not really wanting to see what was causing his mother such distress. The second he saw him, a pale figure in a sea of black, his throat began to close.

_no, no, no._

His father had welcomed Voldemort in with open arms, literally. The two embraced in a strangely intentional way, lingering for a second as Lucius' boss began to croak in his ear.

"You, Lucius, are too kind

"I-It is an honor my Lord, to have you as a guest in my-"

"Ah," Voldemort lightly exclaimed, his head bouncing back in a slow nod. "Guest for now, yes? But later on, we will see." Draco had internally shuttered at the sight of the man's conniving smirk, his eyes seemingly peeled his father apart layer by layer, and by the looks of it, Lucius was not well studied in Occlumency. He had nearly become cross-eyed when Voldemort finally freed the man's mind.

"M-my Lord," Lucius stumbled over his words, his conscious most likely foggy.

Draco had tuned out the rest of the interaction, his eyes moving to the small table that sat between him and Narcissa. It had been set up quite nicely by one of their elves, who had presented them with a spread of pastries and ever flowing tea. Of course, it had been spoiled after the arrival of the Dark Lord. Yet, Draco could not help but notice the extreme contrast between the lace fringed, pastel-green tablecloth and the hoard of dark wizards, all adorned in black. He focused on the same spot between the teacups until his father led the party away from the front of the Manor. Neither him nor his mother spoke a word.

Though Malfoy Manor didn't exactly house the cheeriest atmosphere to begin with, the energy of the estate had shifted to something sinister. Dark magic had been palpable in the air, lingering in every room and corridor. Despite Draco having his own private wing of the manor, he could never seem to get far enough away to find an escape from it all. Voldemort was everywhere within the dark walls, waiting behind every corner in search of something to thrash at. Thankfully, the Dark Lord had only called upon Draco so many times over the course of his stay at Malfoy Manor. He no longer trusted the boy with any missions of great proportion or influence, yet for whatever reason, did not appear to be suspicious of him in the slightest. He was ordered to do small things, like keep watch at the doors during meetings with high ranking Death Eaters, or find various dark items from various peoples' Gringotts vaults, or stake out the homes of muggle-borns.

For the first time in his life, Draco had felt truly insane.

Shutting down was not optional after the Dark Lord moved in, it was a requirement. Immediately upon his arrival, Draco began excusing his inflamed attraction to the muggle born on pure desperation, stemmed from solitude and nothing more; he did everything he could to bury her away in his mind. Leading up to the notorious close call featuring his aunt, he had been isolated at the manor for quite some time. A wandering mind only made sense. Regardless of Draco's internal excuses, Snape's words had still felt sharp in his psyche, acting as a prodding reminder to stay in line, to stay vigilant. His godfather's words reverberated endlessly around Draco's mind: " _He will kill her, and perhaps you."_

The dreams had continued throughout his slumber regardless.

It was only so long until the inevitable happened. By the grace of some sort of higher power, the Dark Lord had not been there when Fenrir Greyback and crew dragged in England's most wanted wizard.

When the Golden Trio had shown up at the manor in the clutches of snatchers - their appearances mildly deformed - Draco had simply wanted to scream. _those idiots._ Every emotion he had ever felt towards Hermione came rushing back the moment he had seen her - loathing, euphoria, rage, jealousy, wonder, confliction. He had peered at her directly, daring her to make eye contact, but she refused. She and, who Draco assumed to be, Harry looked absolutely miffed. In opposition to this, the third - presumably the red headed weasel - had worn a muddled expression of both guilt and terror. Draco had pressed his lips into a line and did everything in his power not to shout at the idiotic Gryffindor. _of course it's his fault._

After being asked to identify the three of them, and in turn, intentionally failing to do so, Draco had done all he could to remain calm as the adults bickered amongst themselves. They had eventually settled on not yet calling the Dark Lord - being uncertain was never worth the risk with a boss like him - and instead turned to their own means of cruelty.

"Well, _that's_ the mudblood." Bellatrix had sneered, pointing her wand at Hermione. "There's no doubt about that. I can smell her from here."

The snatchers chuckled at the snide remark, their laughs a bit too overdrawn - suggesting they only did so to please the sadistic witch. But their amusement quickly faded after she spotted the sword. They had watched her, frozen in horror as rage began to visibly consume Bellatrix. Draco's stomach had dropped at the sight of her wild eyes. His aunt's unhinged demeanor was intimidating enough on a good day, and before that moment, he had never seen her appear so completely untamed. She barked a series of orders, commanding that the two boys be sent to the cellar so her and Hermione could have some, as she put it, 'girl talk.'

But there were only so many questions to ask the muggle born before the purposeful interrogation shifted into an excuse to torture.

"Such a beautiful wand," Bellatrix said, her tone dripping with sarcasm. She had forced the snatchers to hand over the girl's wand alongside the sword, and now held it in her manicured hands as she sat atop the muggle born. Maniacally, she began dangling it over Hermione's face and had acted as though she were going to snap it in half at any moment. Her screams had slipped into desperate wails - the insane witch cackling as she straddled her middle, the teenager's wand taut between both hands as Hermione continuously begged and pleaded. The _Cruciatus Curse_ had been nothing compared to the threat of losing her magic

Draco hadn't known how much longer he could hold out.

"Pushed a button, have I?" Bellatrix whined back, an awful grin spreading across her face. "Let's make a deal, shall we? Perhaps I'll spare your precious wand if you cooperate nicely throughout our next… activity." She reached beneath the hem of her dress to access a leather holster, her fingers removing the black dagger and sheath. "Stay still, my dear! Don't want to mess up the linework."

As Bellatrix lay flat across Hermione's body and carved hate into her soft skin, Draco had stood stoically beside his mother at the perimeter of the room, her hand perched upon his shoulder. The girl was shaking, practically vibrating against the ballroom floor as her mess of honey-brown curls were drowned out by Bellatrix's heap of black, like a cloud of smoke enveloping her soul. Draco hadn't needed to see Hermione's face to internalize her level of pain as her throat released each scream after blood curdling scream. Narcissa's fingers had tensed over his black suit jacket, not keeping him back, but rather pressing him down towards the ground. Though both of them possessed nerves of steel - they were Malfoys, of course - observing this punishment seared away at their hearts in a way that resembled the intensity of fiendfyre. His mind had been in a constant state of push and pull, anger overtaking rationality, then vise versa. Draco had tried to make a noble attempt at properly breathing, but couldn't manage to stay steady and do so at the same time.

Then, Dobby had appeared out of thin air - the miracle of all miracles. He sat above the rest on the room's grand chandelier, his thin fingers nimbly dissembling the bottom portion of the fixture from its top. None of the others besides Draco and his mom had noticed his presence.

"Go," Narcissa's voice had barely been a whisper, but her message was easily translated by her only son. Draco sharply exhaled, then gave the slightest of nods. In a spectacular act of wandless magic, the pureblood witch had muttered a body binding curse and sent it sailing over the stone, hitting her spouse directly in the chest. Draco's eyes widened in disbelief as he watched his father tumble to the ground. Bellatrix had foolishly taken the bait and dropped the bloodied dagger, standing from her prisoner's writhing body to stalk towards her fallen brother-in-law, her wand quickly drawn.

"What in-" The evil witch's screech began in the back of her throat, then erupted. " _WHERE_ did that spell _COME FROM_?" Lucius wriggled against the floor like a worm, unable to pry his limbs from his torso. Bellatrix had towered over the elder Malfoy, her voice shrill and enraged as she demanded answers, her wand pointing wildly at the snatchers. From her place along the wall, Narcissa had stood tall - no one ever paid her much mind, keeping her conveniently removed from conflict. As soon as his mother's grip on his shoulder loosened, Draco had bolted straight towards the center of the room.

The faster he moved, the slower time seemed to pass. Draco had given the situation a fleeting glance just before he reached Hermione with nervousness panging in the center of his chest - Bellatrix had the remaining snatchers up against the wall, screaming at them to speak without actually giving them a chance to do so. He couldn't think, didn't have time to think. He swallowed harshly, his tongue dry against the roof of his mouth, eyes peering over the girl's head at her wand and the dagger his aunt had let clatter to the floor, along with its scabbard. The words _counter-curse_ had raged through his mind like wildfire, the flames violent enough to coax his hand forward and nab the dark item, its cover, and her prized possession. Desperately, one hand clutched onto Hermione's bicep - making sure to keep the knife away from her skin - while the other had impulsively cradled her face, his fingers accidentally threading through some of her hair in the process.

The chandelier dropped. Horrified doe eyes met his uncertain slits, then they were gone.

It was a miracle they didn't get splinched, really. Draco's focus towards the end of the chaos had faltered beyond belief - overshadowed by a fear he normally did not allow himself to experience - only thinking of their destination at the very last second. But somehow he had gotten them to a grove of trees outside the warded property - he had actually helped her escape. Hermione lay flat in the snow, sobs still heaving from her chest as Draco crouched forward on the balls of his feet, nose touching his knees. He closed into himself, bending his head further towards the ground and removing his hands from Hermione's bicep and face. He had to have been seen; someone besides his mother ought to have witnessed his betrayal. In an attempt to pry himself away from the panic, Draco frantically patted the ground around him, his hand nearly stabbing itself on the stolen dagger. Its sheath sat in the snow directly behind him, the weapon located to his left. He collected the pair, carefully sliding the dagger into its pouch.

_where the fuck is her wand?_

They sat in silence for a moment, both trying to regulate their breathing and calm their pounding hearts. It had seemed as though Hermione wasn't able to stop crying, stuck in a state of overwhelming shock. The forest around them had remained void of sentient life, their only company being the rustling branches and wind. After a while, she had looked up from her spot in the snow, awkwardly craning her neck to gaze at Draco. In an instant, both the sleeve of her shirt and jacket were pulled down to meet her wrist. Her eyes dodged from left to right, blinking rapidly as though to clear her vision. Frantically, she sat up and scooted away from Draco in a single motion, clutching her bleeding arm close to her body.

"Malfoy-" Hermione sounded weak, her body exhausted.

"Easy, Granger." He had tried to collect himself for her benefit, standing slowly then nonchalantly slipping the dagger into the top of his boot - a keepsake for later. "I'm not… I'm not going to hurt you-"

"Where did you bring me?" She demanded, digging her heels into the snow to push herself further back. Her hand had been splayed across her forearm so tightly. "Where are Harry and-"

"We left the manor." He replied stoically. "We had to leave. You had to get out of there."

She had stared at him blankly, then continued to rapidly blink. Nervously, she raised a hand and rubbed the skin along her hairline before resting her forehead against her palm. "Malfoy, I don't understand."

"You were being tortured, Hermione." _fuck._

Once more, she brought her opposite hand down to clamp onto the wound. "I-I'm well aware." Her voice had been bitter, almost spiteful. "Where are we?"

"The woods," He said carefully.

"Oh, thank you!" She let out a sarcastic chortle, finally willing herself to stand. "I couldn't tell."

Draco had stared at her as she brushed the snow from her pants. She was being combative, and though he knew not to expect much else from his long term foe, it had frustrated him - perhaps even bruised his ego.

"We're in the Savernake Forest, if you're so hellbent on specifics." He glared at her arm, itching to see the damage inflicted by the dagger. "Is your arm alright?"

Hermione sucked in her cheeks and looked down, like she was trying to fight off the words that lingered on the back of her tongue. She took a deep breath. "It stings."

Draco frowned then took a step forward, not quite noticing her hesitation. "Maybe I could try to heal-"

"No," She stated firmly, taking a step back to regain the distance. "No, I don't think-"

"Why?" He had questioned, annoyance expanding in his chest. Without giving it much thought, he stepped closer to her yet again. "I just want to see-"

"Merlin, Malfoy! _Stop_." Hermione yelled as she finally looked at him. Her eyes had gone narrow in a way that attempted to conceal her emotions that were typically worn as a badge of courage. And though she had looked rather angry, she also looked threatened - her arms crossed and torso turned away.

Draco hadn't liked the look she gave him one bit. It was one of distaste, filled with defensive action and self preservation - one that she had often thrown his way throughout their years at Hogwarts. He _hated_ having to see that expression yet another time in his life, for all it did was remind him of past blunders and unforgivable deeds. His chest felt too full as he reminisced on his past, on their past, and before long, he encroached on Hermione's space yet again.

"You're scared of me." He had impulsively hissed into her face - an attempt to stay sinister. For once, Hermione remained silent. She didn't move, her swollen eyes trained on the boy who had wronged her so many times. Out of the corner of his eye, Draco could see dark red seeping through the fabric of her pathetically filthy coat. His stoic front wavered. Panic arose. "J-Just let me help you!" He reached for her arm, his fingers faltering at the edge of her skin.

Ever so slightly, she pulled back from the boy again.

"Why would you be willing to help me?" Quietly, the words passed through Hermione's lips. "Am I not exactly what stands in your way?"

The gentle wind blew through the tops of the ancient trees, causing leftover leaves to fall from the branches and collect on the pristine snow below. Draco had pondered upon her words for a few moments, his gaze fixed on a far-off point. There was no use in trying to maintain the snide persona that had haunted Draco as he grew older, so he pushed down the resurfaced memories and remained civil. "Things have changed since we saw each other last, Granger."

He forced himself to look back at her. Her expression was still undetectable, but in a different sort of way. For some reason, they couldn't stop holding one another's gaze. It was intense, but comfortable - overwhelming, yet safe. Hermione had somewhat softened at his words, the grip on her wound loosened. But then she broke their eye contact to glance at Draco's covered forearm, the one she knew sported the ugly snake and skull tattoo.

"You're a proper Death Eater now, aren't you?" She had asked recklessly, perhaps to provoke him. Draco pressed his lips together in a tight line and forced his hands deep into the pockets of his pants.

"At face value, sure." His words had been stiff, guarded.

Hermione raised a brow. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Can I just see your arm?" Draco sighed.

"No! I-Y-You can't just expect me to… to trust you!" She exclaimed with a hint of reluctance woven into her voice. "And why on Earth are you so persistent?"

"I'm not a sodding Death Eater, alright?" He grimaced, the truth flashing through his mind. "Technically speaking, sure. I've been initiated into their little club and am, by definition, a member. But I didn't do this willingly." He removed both hands from the pockets of his pants and placed them behind his head, backing further away from Hermione. "I was a bit of an offering, or even a bid, if you will. My father wasn't on good terms with You-Know-Who after royally fucking up a few years ago, and he needed a way back in his good graces." Draco chuckled darkly, his mouth turned down. "It's just like Lucius to have someone else do his bidding for him, isn't it? Offering me up for a task of servitude, telling the Dark Lord that I was willing to do whatever it took to preserve the Malfoy name and legacy. So, on my sixteenth birthday, I was branded by that… that lunatic." He shook his head. "I didn't ask for this. And neither did you - all _you've_ done is exist."

Hermione had nodded slowly as he spoke, drinking in his words.

Draco didn't dare look up at her. Almost immediately, he regretted letting her in. He had never allowed himself to exude such clear, vibrant emotions in front of others before - characteristically, it just wasn't a part of him. He stood there in an uncomfortable silent shame, about ready to beg the girl to speak.

"I swear, Malfoy, if you try anything, I will _end you_." Her words had some bite, but Hermione's voice had been a bit feeble as she caved. A huge part of her was reluctant to outstretch her clothed arm to him, but the smaller part of her was certain it would be alright. Taking a deep breath, she untucked her arm from her chest and held it out in his direction. Draco had released a thankful sigh, then motioned for them to take a seat in the already compressed snow.

"I haven't even looked at it myself." She grimaced as they sat and shook her head. "Didn't have enough time, I suppose."

Draco clenched his jaw, grateful that she had finally given in, but agitated over the state of her wound. "We need to see how deep the cut is." He had said, still staring at her arm. Blood continued to soak through her shirt and jacket, creating blossoms of red upon the fabric.

"I don't fancy looking at it."

He nodded. "I'll just tend to it. Turn your head away."

She did as he instructed, looking up to the treetops. "I have supplies in my bag." She said, turning her head more and using her other arm to retrieve the purple pouch from the inside of her jacket. "Here, it might take you a second to find what you're looking for, but I most likely have whatever we need."

Draco raised an eyebrow as he took the bag from her. "In this?"

She nodded. "Undetectable extension charm."

"Oh," He breathed, impressed by the highly advanced magic. "I see."

After locating the items and placing them in his lap, Draco had gingerly grabbed hold of Hermione's forearm. He _really_ hoped she didn't notice the slight shake to his hands, or the subtle way in which his breath caught. His fingers fumbled for the scissors in his lap.

"I think it may be best to cut this off you," He cleared his throat, motioning towards the sleeve of her coat.

"That's fine, let's just get on with it." She said curtly.

He dealt with the wool coat first, starting at the cuff and cutting directly up to create a slit in order to easily fold back the rest of the sleeve. It had been quite saturated with blood, but had been nothing compared to the sopping wet material of her sweater. Carefully, Draco stuck his fingers under the garment to separate the textile from Hermione's gaping wounds, her blood causing everything to stick together, then slid the scissors to cut a line identical to the first. He peeled back the material, then had felt his stomach drop as the wound became fully exposed.

 **Mudblood** _._

"Fucking bitch," Draco had exhaled harshly, mindlessly running a blood-soaked hand through his unkept hair. Hermione flinched, assuming that his language was directed towards her. "Not you, Granger." He sighed, afraid to lose her feeble trust. Thankfully she had kept her head turned away, quietly sniffling every once and a while.

"How deep is it?" She asked, beginning to turn her head. Intentionally, Draco had shielded the wound from view with his own arm.

"Rather," He locked eyes with her. "It's still alright if I use the supplies from your bag, yeah?"

She wrinkled her brows. "I don't think I would have let you grab them if I was opposed to you doing so."

Draco couldn't help but feel a bit embarrassed, his ego had once again been bruised; he had only been trying to be courteous - as far as he saw, there had merely been the single roll of gauze in the pouch and wanted to make sure that it was fine to utilize. Slytherin spite caused him to go mute as he worked on disinfecting the wound, taking his time to cause the least amount of pain. The forest around them had still been quite quiet, the snow muffling any animal calls or falling branches. The blanket of clouds above them kept the lighting even, and had given what could be considered a warm tint to the cold world. Hermione glanced around as Draco worked on the sterilization, curiosity blooming in her chest.

"Actually," She said abruptly, just as Draco was unrolling the cotton bandage. "I think I want to see-"

"Please don't look at it," He had said as he began wrapping the gauze, his fingers gently gripping her wrist. "You didn't want to see it before."

"I want to know what it says." Hermione declared, making a one-hundred-and-eighty degree turn around from her earlier statement. She had begun to collect her arm into her chest, but Draco kept it steady in his lap.

"Please," He sighed again, continuing to circle her forearm with the cloth. But after a moment of deliberation, he paused - realizing that if the witch wanted to see her wound, she was going to see it. The word was carved into her skin like a handprint in freshly poured pavement.

"It's my arm, Malfoy." She had spoken his mind. Draco nodded and sighed again, this time in defeat. He undid his work, unwinding the strip of fabric around her arm and making sure that, for the moment, her forearm was pointed towards the ground. He didn't want it to sting more than he knew it already did and would; he didn't want it to be revealed to her letter by letter as he removed the first layer of bandaging, like some sort of twisted guessing game. When it was completely off, Draco stared down at the blank side of her forearm then released her.

Hermione wasted no time flipping over her arm, and in an instant, Draco watched her heart break. He had promised himself he wasn't going to watch her reaction, but had betrayed his word in an instant. Her eyes were wide and filled with more horror than they had been when Draco got them out of the manor. Her mouth had quivered in a similar sort of way.

"F-Fucking…" She breathed, then flinched as she ran her fingers beside the hateful slashes. "Fucking bitch,"

Draco had continued to stare at her, completely at a loss for words. Silence enveloped them again.

"It's deep, too." Hermione frowned, speaking clearly then. "I understand why you didn't want me to see it now."

_yeah, that's why._

He had nodded, staring at her for a few seconds more until he found a gust of courage. Almost tenderly, he reached his hands out and had pulled her arm back into his lap - a gesture she did not reject. She laid back beside him that time, the shoulder of her injured arm perched upon his knee. Repeating the process from before, Draco wrapped and sterilized her arm with care. He had made sure the bandage was as secure as possible, then applied an extra layer in case the bleeding continued on due to the inevitable curse.

"That should do it." He said, releasing her arm with a hint of reluctance.

Hermione sat up slowly. "This should hold me over for some time." She had said while rotating her arm to get a good look at his work. "It looks good. Thank you, Malfoy."

They had stood from the snow together, Draco nearly reaching out to help her up. He didn't respond to her gratitude, simply because he hadn't known how to. He had not wanted to be the one to tell her about the dark magic that now resided in her forearm, and if he began to speak, that would be the first thing that came out of his mouth. Instead, a thick silence invaded the space surrounding them. Hermione, who had seemed desperate for some kind of distraction, bent down to collect the supplies and shove them back into her bag. For a moment, Draco allowed himself to watch her motions - how she bent at the waist, which fingers she used to retrieve the items, the way her hair fell across her face - but afterwards had quickly shut his eyes. _this is not the time._

Looking for his own distraction, Draco peered around the ancient forest. The nearby trees were quite thick, indicating centuries of growth. Many of them were beech and oak trees, with a few skinnier birches peppered in between. All of them towered over the pair's small spot in the snow, sky-high branches swaying in the light breeze. Draco had fixated his gaze on one particular oak in front of him, it's branches crawling across the clouded sky like lightning on a summer night. The bit of the tree where all of the branches met was quite wide, creating somewhat of a platform that looked suitable for a treehouse. His eyes traveled down the trunk, quickly inspecting the bark, then followed the massive surface roots until…

_holy fuck._

Just then, Hermione's voice had cut through the air.

"I really didn't want to ask this," She had said, her good arm elbow deep in the bag as she searched for a clean shirt and coat. "But do you know what happened to my wand?"

Draco turned to look at her, an unmasked expression of disbelief on his face. "Yeah, actually. I do." He stepped through the snow in the direction of the aforementioned oak, stopping beside one of the gargantuan roots. Sticking perfectly upright in the snow, with its tip pointed to the crawling tree limbs above, had been Hermione's wand. "Unbelievable," He had breathed out in a sigh, only audible to himself.

She was quickly beside him, having dropped her bag the instant he turned to move. Once she spotted her wand, a girlish squeal had erupted from her throat. "It's not broken? And it's here? Draco!" She was absolutely overjoyed, nearly bouncing in place as she reached down to reunite with her magic. "I was so sure it was gone for good!" Draco hadn't been able to keep his mouth from turning up at both her elation and the way she had said his name. It had sounded so much like the way she spoke to him in his dreams.

"A lovely little miracle," Draco said softly, tilting his head up. "I thought I had lost it when we apparated." The silence between them grew thick once more.

After a pause, Hermione had spoken. "You grabbed this from the manor?"

He simply nodded in response - each bob of his head lowering his gaze to hers.

"Intentionally?" She had asked, their eyes deadlocked on one another. Her head had been slightly cocked to the right, causing a few stray curls to fall across her face.

"You deserve your magic, Hermione."

Immediately after the words had left his mouth, Draco felt like a fool - he had allowed himself to slip up in front of her far too many times. He was supposed to stay guarded and vigilant, unwilling to show himself to anyone. But despite this, he had never let his eyes leave hers. For the first time, Draco was able to see how they looked up close - her eyes were more than just brown, they were flecked with gold. He had watched as they shifted from a curious squint to a wide-eyed stare, and then, against all odds, to _the look_.

Draco had nearly fallen over as he observed the shift in her gaze. Her surprised expression had melted into the beautifully soft one from his dreams, the one where she looked at him with kindness overflowing from her eyes. Her stare had been genuine and accepting, tender and welcoming.

"Thank you for rescuing me back there, Malfoy. I can't imagine what this now means for you."

He had reached for her without thinking, his hand faltering just at the edge of her curls. Draco continued to look her in the eye as his hand hovered in the air, waiting for her to back up and shout at him. But much to his surprise, Hermione did not move nor did her gaze waver. She blinked slowly, possibly expectantly.

_sod it._

Gently, he had placed a trembling hand on her cheek and caressed the skin beneath her eye with his thumb. She had been so tangible, too tangible. She was soft and warm beneath his palm, and so badly he had wanted to kiss her - but it was too much to bear. Just as he began to retract his hand, she had leaned into his touch, bringing her hand up to rest against his own before she closed her eyes. Draco's mouth had immediately gone dry, his eyes wide in disbelief.

_i must be going mad. there is no way this-_

His ruminations had been put to a halt the moment she kissed his palm.

It had been a simple gesture, one that she may have done to anyone, but it had been enough to rock Draco's entire world. They had separated from one another shortly after, their eyes still lingering.

He held onto the moment for many months to come.

Eventually though, Hermione had come to her senses and began to frantically obsess over the wellbeing of Potter and Weasley. Draco had stayed silent for most of her self-deprecating tirade, his back teeth gnawing on the inside of his cheeks, and did not protest when she insisted she was strong enough to apparate to one of the Order's many safe houses.

"Well, where are you going?" She had asked just before leaving.

Draco had shrugged. "I'll figure it out."

Hermione gave a slow, pensive nod. "Alright." She nodded a second time, then looked directly at him as she had before. "Stay safe."

He had nearly snorted. "You want me to stay safe?"

"Yes, Malfoy." She smiled. "I'll see you in the spring." And with that, she was gone.

* * *

They had, in fact, seen one another in the spring - and then some. Pondering upon their fleeting moments gave Draco nothing but a harsh pang to the center of his chest.

When the war was finally over, Draco had escaped to the sea. With what little money he had, he had blindly purchased a small shack-like cottage on the western coast of Scotland, making sure to have one of his family's house-elves furnish it in advance. Upon his arrival, Draco had given the little creature a folded handkerchief - the one his mother had always kept on her person - freeing them from eternal servitude. Draco had watched the elf pop away through a screen of long overdue tears, then turned towards the sound of crashing waves.

Draco had sprinted to the ocean, his arms outstretched as to greet the cloud-covered horizon. Salt water soaked into his clothing instantly, his shoes filling with sand. His body forcefully cut through the waves until they sloshed against his torso at a dangerous distance from the shore. Only then had he let out a scream that rivaled the chaotic water that nearly submerged him.

He had screamed for quite some time. He screamed for his mother, for the years wasted on fear. He screamed for his father, for the hatred that made a home in his heart. He screamed for himself, for all he lost. Sure, he had gained his freedom - at long last, he was able to live life for himself. But at the same time, he had lost everything.

He got what he wanted, but only after losing what he had.

Sometimes, he made himself sick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: how DRAMATIC! okay, i hope this chapter wasn't too weird or confusing! i really needed to explain what happened to draco towards the end of the war, and i may have gone in a bit too hard. gods, i'm so glad to finally have this posted! in the next chapter, we'll check back in with hermione and find out wtf theo wants from her! thank you for reading! -forrest toads
> 
> p.s. also yes, i did indeed blame their capture on ron. why? honestly i'm not sure, but it felt right! oh and the torture in which hermione endured here was less severe than how it's portrayed in jkr's books. bellatrix did not use the cruciatus curse to the extreme she does in canon.

**Author's Note:**

> a/n: hope you enjoyed the read! next chapter, we'll be checking in on draco - buckle up!


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